"Bradley," he says, pointing a claw at his chest.
You blink at him. Bradley? That's… not what you expected.
You're still mentally processing the fact that this creature talks, walks, and chews candy like an awkward uncle at a barbecue. But now he's got a human name. Your brain fumbles to connect dots that weren't supposed to exist.
The forest hums around you, trees leaning in like they're trying to listen.
Before you can ask the first of your thousand questions—how he learned to talk, where you are, and why this jacket feels so out of place—your body freezes. A shape stirs in your peripheral vision. Another wolf. This one's white as frost, fur shimmering faintly like moonlight on snow. Her eyes gleam with intensity, and unlike Bradley's curious glance, hers are sharp, feral, focused.
You don't even need her to growl—you already know. She wants to eat you. Not your candy. Not your jacket. Just you.
Your limbs lock in place, panic creeping in like vines around your chest.
You try to breathe, but all that comes out is a whisper of air. Bradley catches your expression mid-chew, then turns. His entire posture stiffens as his eyes land on her.
"What are YOU doing here, Trida?!" he shouts, voice now fully wolf-like—a growl sharpened by urgency.
You recoil slightly at the outburst.
Trida. That's her name. You file it away—though the name feels more like a warning label than a personal detail. She steps closer, paws silent on the forest floor. Her stare hasn't wavered.
"Wh… who is she?" you whisper.
Bradley, jaw tight and fur bristling, answers without looking at you. "My sister. My annoying sister."
Trida licks her lips, eyes still locked.
"She ain't like me," he mutters, shaking his head. "She'd rather eat people than people FOOD."
The forest seems to groan at the irony.
"She's the only one in my family who does," Bradley adds. "I don't get it. But she can be a real big deal, quick! Come with me, she looks hungry!"
Your feet move before your brain does. Bradley bolts down a narrow, twisting trail that feels like it grew out of nowhere—an escape route birthed by your panic. The path curls through gnarled roots and sharp ferns, winding like a living thing trying to hide you.
You glance back once—Trida hasn't moved, but her gaze remains heavy on your back like a claw you haven't felt yet.
The deeper you run, the stranger the forest becomes. Colors shift. Bark glows softly. The trees begin to hum. Bradley's shadow leads you forward, flickering between roots and leaves.
"Where are we going?" you finally ask, breath short, legs aching again.
"To where she can't follow," Bradley replies grimly. "To the old places. The places that forgot what hunger looks like."